


The Prime Directive

by Pixie (magnetgirl)



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-11 19:10:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12941808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetgirl/pseuds/Pixie
Summary: AU where Kathryn Janeway and Tom Paris attended the Academy together instead of ten years apart.





	1. The Assignment

"It's a ridiculous question."

Tom was never afraid to voice his opinion. Kathryn turns in her seat to get a better view of the young man -- sitting in the very back of the classroom, basically the polar opposite of her seat front row center. She is always amazed at his lack of preparation in the face of such strong opinions. She waits, somewhat impatiently, for his invariably inarticulate and unsubstantiated, though impassioned, argument.

"The Prime Directive only applies to the Federation. We don't even expect our allies, like the Klignon empire to follow it to the letter. Hell, we don't even _really_ expect ourselves to follow it in every situation. Cut off from the Federation, any Starfleet ship and crew must make their own decisions, without regard to the Prime Directive, or any other Federation doctrine. This crew has been out of contact with the Federation for six years – I don't think they're really _in_ Starfleet anymore."

Tom doesn't stand, doesn't even sit up in his seat. He speaks clearly but Kathryn is disappointed to find a lack of any real interest in the topic. It seems Tom was arguing just to argue.

"I see, Mr. Paris. Any dissenting opinions?"

Kathryn turns back to face the professor and raises her hand. She, of course, is entirely prepared for the question. The professor seems to be hesitant to call on her -- she and Tom tend to monopolize class discussions -- but with no other volunteers, he gives in and nods for her to speak. Standing, Kathryn turns so she could face as much of the class as possible.

"The Prime Directive is our number one protocol. It should not, and cannot, be so easily dismissed, regardless of circumstance. The crew in question _is_ Starfleet, Mr. Paris, not an ally or even a member world colony – they are _Starfleet_ and as such, must hold up our highest ideals or why are we here at all."

Kathryn speaks clearly and distinctly, somehow able to address her rebuttal directly to Tom, their professor, and the rest of the class all at once.

"In this situation, isolated as they are from the Federation, it is the Captain's duty to uphold the rules and regulations of Starfleet and the Federation, and the crew's duty to follow his lead. No matter the consequences to their journey."

The professor thanks her and with a nod, she moves to sit down. As she turns to retake her seat, Tom mutters something she can't quite make out.

"If you have a response, Mr. Paris, please speak up for everyone to hear," the professor chastises. Conflicted, Tom takes a moment to think it over, then sits up straight, clasps his hands, and addresses Kathryn directly.

"All I said, sir, was of course Cadet Janeway thinks that way. She's the product of a Starfleet upbringing – a synonym for brainwashing, I sometimes think. Her father is one of Starfleet's most decorated Admirals and I doubt she can imagine any situation in which the Prime Directive might be broken."

Kathryn turns to glare at him but he calmly meets it with a brilliant smile. She purses her lips, takes a breath, and spits out her reply.

"I do not see what my father has to do with it, Mr. Paris, especially in the face of  _your_  family. All situations involving the question of the Prime Directive are unique. The possibility of a scenario in which it cannot be upheld exists, of course, however, I do not believe _this_ to be one."

Tom leans forward. "What if it were you, Kathryn? What if you were stranded thousands of light years from Earth, completely cut off from the Federation and you discovered the ability to get yourself and your crew back... if only you broke the Prime Directive?"

He is no longer speaking without interest, blue eyes piercing and passionate. For a charged moment the class disappears and it is just the two of them.

"It's such an arbitrary decision anyway. How much interaction counts as interference? If taking action is 'playing god' why isn't not taking action? The choice to not interfere is still a choice we're making _for them_." He shakes his head. "None of this is universal."

Kathryn's eyes are a fury but before she can formulate a response, the professor spoke up.

"All right, that's enough you two. This problem is to be our final project. You will be working with a partner to express both sides of the argument and to project the outcome. Mr. Paris, Ms. Janeway, you'll be working together. I look forward to your project. Everyone else, please choose a partner by next class. Dismissed."

The class empties slowly, cadets chattering to each other as they make their way up the stairs of the lecture hall. Kathryn and Tom stare at each other from across the room. Tom is still smiling, Kathryn doing her best not to show how sick she suddenly feels.

_Twenty years later_

"Fire."

With one word Janeway strands her ship, her crew, and the Maquis they were following, thousands of light years from home. The crowd on the bridge watch in fear, disbelief, and resignation as the Caretaker's array explodes into a thousand points of light.

All but Tom. His eyes are on Kathryn.


	2. The Offer

Kathryn presses the buzzer to Tom's door at 08:00 exactly. As they'd planned. Or so she thought. The door opens seven minutes later, after her third buzz, to a disheveled and shirtless Tom Paris who does not appear to be expecting her.

"Janeway?"

"Hello, Tom," she says brightly as if there's nothing whatsoever wrong with his appearance and this isn't already a terrible start to their day and project.

"...Hi"

To be fair, disheveled and shirtless is a really good look on him, but she keeps her eyes level with his and refuses to be distracted.

"Did I wake you?"

"Yeah."

She sighs. She'd made it very clear when they spoke the day before, and repeated _tomorrow morning_ when they parted. Was she supposed to set his alarm _for_ him?

"When do you think you'll be ready?"

"Ready?"

Kathryn presses her lips. "To work on the project." What does he think she's here for?

"Oh yeah."

"If you can't take this seriously--" Then she will march over to their professor's office and _demand_ a new partner. She refuses to be dragged down by someone who can't be bothered to wake up and put on a shirt.

But he shakes his head, drawing a hand through his hair. His eyes are impossibly blue.

"Give me ten minutes."

Dammit she's staring. She turns sharply away before he can see her blush.

"Fine."

He emerges thirteen minutes later -- not that she was counting -- not entirely neat, but thankfully fully clothed.

"Can we stop by the cafeteria?"

Kathryn nods. She could use another cup of coffee, anyway.

 

Tom takes the seat across from her, placing a tray, piled high with what she considers at least three breakfasts, between them. He smiles at her wide eyed look.

"Feel free to take anything you want," he offers, "what's mine is yours."

She raises her large mug. "I'm fine." Tom nods and digs in. Kathryn settles back in her chair and takes another swig of her coffee.

"So. I think we should start with your argument and then--"

"Refute it?"

Kathryn's eyes narrow. There's something in his tone she's not sure she trusts. "...Yes."

Tom trains his impossibly -- annoyingly -- blue eyes on hers. "The assignment is to present both sides."

"We are."

"But you only believe in yours."

She straightens her shoulders. "I can argue both."

Tom waves a hand, "Please," and settles back to listen.

"Don't be cute."

"I want to hear your argument!"

Tom's expression is wounded, and though she's near certain he's mocking her, she gives in with a sigh.

"It's not a primitive culture, they are capable of sublight travel and have colonies on planets within the same system. It could be argued the Prime Directive technically only applies because they are not members of the Federation."

"Do you think they want to be?"

She blinks. "What?"

"Do you think they'd join. If that was an option."

"It's not."

Tom leans in. "But if it was?"

Kathryn rolls her eyes. "It's a ridiculous question. The Federation doesn't exist in this quadrant."

"Exactly why their rules shouldn't apply."

"But the ship--" she starts, hackles up and cheeks flushed. 

He grins. She glares.

"I don't think is going to work."

She stands and starts to move away but he grabs her hand.

"Let's go flying."

"What?" She stares at his hand curled over her fingers. It's warm. "No."

"C'mon Kate, live a little."

She raises frowning eyes to his. "Did you just call me Kate?"

"It'll clear your head."

"My head is fine."

"No," he counters, "it's stuck on the ground in Starfleet hell."

She has no response to that. What could possibly be the response to that?

"What are you afraid of?"

She pulls her hand away, crosses her arms. "I'm not afraid."

"Prove it."

"If you think I'm going to hop into a shuttle with you because you _dared_ me--"

Tom waggles his eyebrows, a wide grin across his face. Kathryn purses her lips.

"What do I get in return?"

"What do you want?"

"For you to take this assignment seriously."

Tom nods once and holds out his hand. She looks from it to his impossibly, annoyingly, twinkling blue eyes and feels her cheeks blush again.

She should turn and walk away. Get a new partner. Or do the assignment herself. Or drop the class. She should absolutely not indulge his ridiculous desire to blow off the project and go for a probably unauthorized joyride. She should _not_ take his hand, let him win, and suggest she has any interest at all in this idea or its originator. He is not half as cute as he thinks he is, and she is definitely not charmed, and she should turn and walk away.

She takes his hand.  

 

_Delta Quadrant, fifteen years later_

 

"You asked to see me?"

She waves him in, the door to her ready room closing behind. Tom takes a wary seat next to her on the sofa.

"I'm granting you a field commission and assigning you to conn," she explains, holding out a small box. "Congratulations."

He takes the box, opens it to find two round gold pips. Kathryn smiles.

"I want you to be my helmsman."

He closes the box and replaces it in her hand. A frown crosses her face. "No."

_No?_

Their eyes meet, confusion and concern plain in hers, pride and defiance in his.

"Tom…"

"I don't want to join Starfleet." He raises his chin, speaks clearly. "I don't believe in it."

"The Maquis--"

"I don't want to be a Maquis either."

Kathryn crosses her arms. "Good, because they're disbanded. The Maquis have agreed to follow Starfleet protocol."

Her tone betrays a barely contained anger, and hurt. Tom wants to look away but feels frozen, his fingers curling into the cushion to avoid running away, or gathering her into his arms. Neither would help the situation.

"Please don't make me do this."

She shakes her head, stands and moves to the window. "It's nothing to do with you. We're seventy thousand light years from Earth, we need the stability of--"

"No," he argues, following, "we need to adapt to the reality of the situation."

"The reality of the situation is we're a Starfleet vessel and--"

"And we're _seventy thousand light years_ from anyone who cares!"

The shout hangs in the air between them, both flushed, eyes flashing. She squares her shoulders.

"I care. Everyone else on this ship has agreed to care."

He's the first to look away. Down, to the floor.

"I won't join Starfleet. I'll follow you. But I won't serve under you."

His voice is subdued, accepting and barely above a whisper. It's a reasonable compromise, but she can't treat him differently from everyone else. He can't expect that of her. The silence grows long past awkward and into dangerous. She turns and walks away.

"Fine." The doors swish open to reveal the bridge. "Commander Tuvok," she calls to her security chief. "Escort Mr. Paris to the brig."

**Author's Note:**

> I started this in 2006, posted the first chapter and plotted the next few but never completed them. I was reminded of it when I had Katrina Cornwell arguing the Prime Directive in a recent Disco fic, and when asked on tumblr to share a Voyager fic... I inexplicably decided the best option was to pull this up, change a few things here and there, and post it. My intention is to continue, especially if there is interest, and I hope it won't take another 11 years (but no promises).


End file.
